


Day Twelve

by walkerofthestars



Series: Whumptober 2020 [12]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick is grieving okay, I think I've broken something, Whumptober 2020, broken down broken bones broken trust, he can't be expected to keep all his relationships stable, kinda just has pieces from all across his life ending after season two, post seaosn two, when he himself is not at all stable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28103127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkerofthestars/pseuds/walkerofthestars
Summary: Whumptober 2020I think I've broken somethingBroken down, broken bones, broken trustThere are many times in Dick Grayson’s life when he has sat back and thought to himself ‘I think I’ve broken something’.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Tim Drake
Series: Whumptober 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055567
Kudos: 42





	Day Twelve

**Author's Note:**

> this is largely introspection and prose i guess? not whump at all really, moreso angst?

There are many times in Dick Grayson’s life when he has sat back and thought to himself ‘I think I’ve broken something’.

It is four in the afternoon, autumn, the air is brisk and with every gust another orange leaf falls, tussled in the wind. The grass crunches under his feet as he zooms ahead of his parents, strolling through the park. They have a few hours before the train leaves this city, Dick intends to explore.

He is seven years old. The name ‘Robin’ is merely a term of endearment his mother has for him. Batman is a myth, a story, confined to Gotham City. Here, he is just a boy.

He races ahead, he finds a play-ground, he swings on the bars. He is a small child in a trapeze family act, what else would he do?

He falls, he cries, his parents come to help.

“it hurts!” he tells them, “is it broken?”

“no, it’s fine, see?” his father says, kissing at the slowly growing bruise, “just a little sore.”

It is nine in the morning, winter, he is nine years old.

He stares out a window into an overcast grey landscape, clouds and desaturated grass, metal buildings all around. steel, steel, steel.

The orphanage is bled dry of emotion. The plaster is cracking, the windows are stained, the carpet is frayed.

He is curled tight, coiled on himself, blue eyes empty as they reflect every bit of grey nothing that stretches around him. outside the door is the social worker and a man, Bruce Wayne.

January 12th, he is twelve, the sky is dark, the night is endless, he is energized by the boundless possibilities.

Robin is no longer a nick name, it is his alias, his mask. He is Robin, Boy Wonder.

It is a wonder he survives that night.

Batman finds him, saves him. the bad guy is put away and Robin is stuck in mandatory bed rest for a week because of the injuries. Bruce suggests putting the mask down, Dick hears none of it. he is Robin, Bruce cannot, will not, take that away from him.

He is thirteen, he wakes up from a mission that didn’t happen, an invasion that is fake, a death entirely imagined.

And he looks at his team, the one he’d been left to lead once Kaldur was gone, and he feel something in him deflate.

Sitting in the room with Canary was something he’d done before, he didn’t have to go through the awkward stages of slowly opening up with her till he was comfortable talking. She knew his trauma already, he trusted her.

‘I don’t want to be _the Batman_ anymore,’ was what he’d said.

What he meant was.

‘I _can’t_ be the Batman.’

No way in hell.

At sixteen Bruce tries to fire him. the cave is a dark echo chamber that bounces their argument around tenfold. Barbara is out on the streets as Batgirl, on her own. Dick wants to join her, she shouldn’t be without backup, but Bruce has him preoccupied.

“you’re off the team,” he says, decides, orders, “leave your uniform in the cave and go upstairs.”

And Dick thinks to himself, ‘what’s stopping me?’

‘Absolutely nothing,’ is the answer.

He leaves his uniform, his mask, his gear. He packs a bag and calls Wally and he disappears into the night.

He has broken the link to Batman that he had. Robin is Batman’s partner, and Dick has had enough of his shadow.

Seventeen and he is off-world when it happens.

As soon as they’re back in range of communications signals, Batman calls him. Dick wouldn’t have picked it up if he didn’t feel something horrible. He had a bad feeling, a hunch. Batman didn’t just _call_ people, especially when they were in the middle of missions, on the way back or not.

 _“Dick,”_ he said, and his voice was so tell-tale that his bad feeling multiplied, _“can you get to the cave?”_

No one else had been told, Batman was keeping it a secret till everyone in the family knew, till they’d had a chance to wrap their heads around it. then he would tell the league.

Dick came home to his brother’s dead body. Robin suit torn to pieces.

Dick hadn’t talked to Batman in a long while at that point. Hadn’t wanted to. For the first time in a year he let Bruce hug him. the bat-family sat in their cave, sobbing.

At eighteen everything breaks.

He’s in charge of the team, Kaldur is gone, the leaguers are gone, there’s an alien invasion and he is in charge of stopping it.

He makes the hard decisions, pulls the strings, keeps the cards off the table.

And by the end of it he leaves. What is left behind is a team of people who do not trust him, likely never will again.

What is left behind is a hole in the group of friends that was created, years ago. Grownups now, stressed and with the world on their shoulders. Falling apart and picking new paths, leaving and dying.

‘I think I’ve broken something.’

Dick lay on his couch, phone on the coffee table. He had barely managed to get out of the Nightwing suit before he collapsed, asleep.

He didn’t wake up to the calls.

 _‘Dick, we need to talk,’_ it was Artemis, _‘call me back when you get this.’_

He woke up because of the sound, but he didn’t check the message. He turned his phone off and got up, put the coffee pot on.

His phone rang. He didn’t answer. It rang maybe four more times before he left the apartment.

Eventually they resorted to contacting him via his communicator.

_“Tigress to Nightwing, quit ignoring your calls and pick up, asshole.”_

Dick glared at the landscape, the horizon of Bludhaven, if only because he couldn’t glare straight at Artemis.

“what?”

_“we need to talk.”_

“pass.”

_“Dick-”_

He cut the signal. Artemis immediately tried again.

 _“Richard John Grayson, will you_ listen _already?”_ she hissed, Dick scowled but let her talk, he hadn’t heard her call him Richard since Wally’s funeral. “ _we need your help, okay.”_ He could almost see her crossing her arms and scowling in his mind’s eye.

It must be bad if they were willing to reach out to him. he hadn’t talked to the team in almost a year. he’d ‘taken a leave of absence’ because of Wally’s death. He was beginning to think of outright quitting at this point, most of the team members had made their distrust quite clear.

“what for?”

 _“it’s about Tim,”_ she said, and Dick could hear worry in her voice.

He frowned, “what do you mean?”

 _“look, this isn’t about a mission or anything, that’s why I called you first,”_ she said, _“Barbara and I have been trying to talk to him, but we’re not getting through. You leaving affected him, we just…”_

Dick didn’t know what he was hearing.

_“can you talk to him? please?”_

“I…” he started walking to the edge of the roof, “yeah, okay, I’ll head over now.”

He took out a grappling hook, plotting a course in his mind.

 _“thank you,”_ she said, and Dick could hear her heave a sigh of relief.

“what’s going on?”

 _“I don’t know, he won’t talk about it, whatever it is,”_ she said, _“we’re worried.”_

If Artemis was worried enough to call him, it was bad.

He snuck in to Wayne Manor, not wanting to annoy Alfred at this hour. He crept along the halls till he was outside Tim’s room. He knocked on the door, lightly, leaning against the wall outside.

“not now, Bruce, I’m busy,” he heard Tim mumble.

“it’s not Bruce,” Dick said.

The door swung open, Tim stared at him.

“what are you doing here?”

“checking in.”

“it’s been months.”

“which is why I’m checking in.”

Tim blinked, staring.

“Barbara called you, didn’t she?”

“no,” Dick said. Tim narrowed his eyes, clearly hearing the truth in the statement.

“Artemis?”

“bingo.”

“well, tell her to buzz off,” he said, crossing his arms, “I’m fine.”

Dick shrugged, catching a spread of paper inside his room through the opened door, “whatcha working on?”

Tim blinked, “what?” he followed Dick’s gaze, “oh… just a case.”

“want a hand?”

“not really,” Tim said, “why are you here?”

“I told you.”

“no, really,” Tim frowned, “why?”

Dick sighed through his nose, rubbed at his eyes, “cause I wasn’t here for Jason, and I already beat myself up about that enough on a regular basis.”

Tim blanched, clearly shocked that Dick would even say the late Robin’s name, let alone without prompting.

“the case isn’t Joker related.”

“good.”

Tim looked uneasy, like he wasn’t sure how to handle this.

‘I’ve broken something,’ Dick thought to himself, ‘again.’

He’d broken _this_. Tim’s trust. He’d broken his family ties. God knows his tie to Bruce was long shattered, but Barbara? Tim? He didn’t have to cut them off, they were more than understanding after the invasion. But it was a package deal, he supposed. And now he couldn’t help Tim because he’d broken something. Again.

“it’s three in the morning,” Dick said, “you should really get some sleep.”

Tim shook his head, “no, I’ve got work to do.”

“so does Bruce, he’s asleep, I checked.”

Tim swallowed, staring into the distance.

“I can’t sleep,” he said.

“nightmares?”

He shook his head, “no.”

“ah,” Dick nodded, “okay.”

“it’s complicated.”

Dick hummed in agreement, “I won’t make you sleep, but you can’t crack this case if you’re sitting here running yourself ragged. You need to eat something, drink some water,” he smiled, ruffled Tim’s hair, “have a shower.”

Tim scowled and fixed his hair, “and what are you doing up this late?”

“talking to you.”

“a horrible pass time.”

Dick snickered, but he lead Tim out of his room.

“come on, let me help,” he said, “if you won’t let me look at the case-“

“I need to get back to work,” Tim said, “I can’t stop till I’ve finished.”

Dick put a hand on his shoulder, “Tim, trust me, the work you do is worth nothing if you’re not in the right mind.”

“how can you say that?” Tim asked, “I can’t take time for self-care when people’s lives are at risk.”

Dick let out a deep breath and braced himself.

“have I ever told you about my later days as Robin?”

Tim blinked, “no?”

Dick nodded, guiding him down the hall, hoping to at least get Tim to the kitchen where Dick could coax him to drink something other than coffee.

“I think it’s time you hear the terrible story of late teens Dick Grayson,” he smiled, “and the horrible state of sleepless, stress-induced and panicked determination I forced myself into.”

He’d broken something, Dick knew that much to be true, but, go dammit, he was going to fix it.

Because that’s what Wally would want.


End file.
